


Chasing Rabbits

by lousy_science



Series: The Does What it Says on the Tin series [11]
Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Adoption, Cold Weather, Dogs, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 01:56:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17112263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lousy_science/pseuds/lousy_science
Summary: Midwinter smut.





	Chasing Rabbits

The Chief appeared on the last fair day of the year. Collins saw him in the yard, standing right in the middle of the open gateway. His head was cocked to one side and he was looking around as if wondering what these chaps were up to. 

The yard wasn’t full, with most of the squad playing footie out in the south field or bundled up in the mess with the latest delivery of papers. New copies of the Beano and Picture Post were fought over fiercely, and Collins had entrusted Farrier with keeping a copy of Punch aside for him. So the Chief was looking over around five of them, scattered around, the others too absorbed to notice him at first. 

Collins called over to Archer, who had been changing a tyre on the clapped-out old Morris Oxford they were nursing back to life. “That a friend of yours?” 

Archer was another Scot, with a thick Highlands brogue and deft hands at anything mechanical. He straightened up from his squat. “Who let that wee dug in?”

“Aye, dunno,” Collins replied, watching as the Chief started strolling off purposefully in a straight line towards the mess, “but he’s got plans of his own.”

 

He wasn’t surprised to see Farrier and the dog together in the mess. The Chief had his paws up on Farrier’s right knee, and was receiving scratches behind his ears as if it were his god-given right. Farrier’s face was soft and fond. 

Collins came over with cups of tea for both of them. “Who’s this, then?”

“He’s the Chief. Ta for that,” 

Farrier stretched to take his tea, and the Chief yipped in protest at the cessation of head scratching. Farrier pouted back at him, “Alright, alright.”

Pulling up a stool to sit across from them, Collins watched Farrier carefully place his tea aside and return attention to the dog. “He’s got one of those big moustaches like Lord Kitchener.”

“Well, he’s a bossy old thing, pressing me into service as soon as he marched in here.” 

Richards wandered over to eye up their newcomer. “He’s like a fox terrier, isn’t he?”

Someone across the hall called out, “I bet he’s less interested in chasing foxes than chasing huns, aren’t ya, Chief? Want to get a Jerry soldier between those jaws?”

The Chief licked his chops, and butted his head up against Farrier’s hands. Collins laughed. “I think he wants some scran. Shall I see what Cook’s got in the kitchen?”

He reached out to pat the Chief’s back. “Be warned, it’s probably not going to be much better than we get.”

Farrier looked up at him. “Go ask Jonesy if he has any scaps. Tell him I asked you to.” 

Collins lifted his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t green anymore, he knew Jonesy and the rest of the mess hall staff, but Farrier still slipped into thinking of him as the new kid who needed Farrier’s authority to get things done. 

Farrier had returned to the Chief’s pressing need for ear scratches, so Collins took the sharp look he was going to give him and waltzed off to the kitchens instead. Jonesy was a hard old sod, but Collins had half a pack of cigarettes ready to swap for some dog tucker. 

The cigs were Farrier’s, but with that last remark he’d lost any claim to them as far as Collins was concerned. 

 

By day three, the Chief was fully ensconced in the base. Hartley, the base barber, hadn’t needed much cajoling to give his claws a quick trim and tidy up the wiry hair tufts that were a natural attractor for burrs and hedge thorns. He ate like a king, the favourite of every pilot who agitated for Farrier to sit at their table for meals. Farrier deferred the choice to the Chief, who was fussy over which seat he’d choose, making Farrier perch on the edge of the narrow benches. The noise they’d all make, trying to get the Chief’s attention with a bit of food or attempt to woof back at him, made the normally raucous mealtimes descend swiftly to anarchy. 

Collins sometimes tagged along, sitting at the table opposite them, watching how Farrier and the Chief would begin to mirror each other - head tilting in the same direction, bending to eat at the same time. If the Chief got rowdy, which happened often, Farrier would lay one of his big hands over his haunches and settled him down, saying, “Don’t let him bother you, mate, be the bigger man.”

That made everyone cut up laughing more, and whoever the joker was who the Chief had been barking at would come back for more torment. 

After supper, the two of them had disappeared. Collins had no idea how, with the Chief being the most popular presence on the base since Archer had arrived with a stack of girlie magazines from America. 

Collins went off to tinker in the shed where spare bits of engines landed up. He wasn’t like Farrier, who could fix anything after staring at it for a good long time, or a trained mechanic like Archer. He would rather be in bed with a book and a warm presence at his back, splitting the whiskey he’d gotten Collins for Christmas. They’d started drinking it back in November, no idea whether they’d make Christmas and not willing to let a good bottle stay full. 

Slapping a wrench down on the tool bench, he grumbled at the mess he’d made of the gears he’d been trying to sort out. Archer would laugh at his efforts in the morning. His hands were creased with grease, and the oily dark corners of the shed were almost ominous in the dim light. He wished for a radio, to fill the small space with nonsense, instead of being here by himself with his clumsy hands and petty thoughts. 

“Can you see him in there, Chief?”

Paws scurried on the concrete floor, and Collins turned to see the Chief shaking out his coat. He looked dampened, mud stuck to his fur, a little downhearted, as if his cockiness had faded with the daylight. 

Farrier didn’t look much better, but he smiled at Collins as he lifted his hand to knock on the door. “Good boy. Looks like you found him. Wonder if he’ll let us come in?”

“You better, it’s chilly out there. Look at you, you wee thing, you’re knackered aren’t you?”

He bent down, and the Chief nosed at the inside of his elbow as he petted down the sodden fur. The wagging of his tail picked up speed, and he sat back on his haunches, wheezing out a huff. 

“Your breath stinks, it really does. What else have you been feeding him?”

He looked up to Farrier, who shook his head in innocence. “Nothing, we went for a walk down through the woods and he decided to have a roll in something dead. I had to drag him out of it.”

“Little blighter. Ah well, dogs will be dogs. He better not have fleas.”

Farrier didn’t reply to that. Instead he knelt down in front of Collins, his hand meeting where Collin’s had it threaded through wet fur. 

“You tired yet?” 

“Yes. Even though no one asked me to go for a walk.”

Reaching his other hand up to rub his neck, Farrier looked abashed. “‘M sorry. He was getting too worked up with so many people. And I wanted to show him the woods.”

“Mmm.” Collins felt a wet nose poke into his open palm. “I like the woods, too.”

“Ah, but if I’d gone with you, we’d have gotten distracted.”

“You think I would’ve lost a dog? Because -”

Farrier’s brow wrinkled with amusement. “I didn’t say you would’ve. I might have let my eyes wander off…”

Sitting up straight, Collins regarded him with narrowed eyes. “You’re just as tired and dirty as him, aren’t you?”

He didn’t get a reply. Farrier just held his gaze for a few moments, then reached forward and dragged him into a kiss. 

 

They got back to the barracks huddled under Farrier’s coat. The drizzle had turned into a solid wall of rain, which pounded on them steadily even as the Chief barked with annoyance up at it. Staggering in, Farrier switched on the lights as Collins picked up a protesting dog - “Don’t think you’re climbing over everything with those muddy paws, matey.”

Farrier slung a rag at him, and the two of them did their best to get the top layer of dirt off a squirming Chief. 

Moving over to his bunk, Farrier pulled off the top blanket and was rolling it up when Collins said incredulously, “You’re not giving him that to sleep on?”

Turning back, Farrier said, “Some of the lads said they’ll make him a dog house, but before that - ”

“We’ve only got two blankets! Stop right there, you take him.”

He handed his armful of the Chief over to Farrier and moved over to his trunk. Grunting softly as he kneeled down to unlatch it, he half-listened to Farrier cooing soft words. It wasn’t a big surprise to turn around and see the dog gentled, lolling Farrier’s arms. 

“Here we go, he can sleep on this.”

Farrier looked at him blankly, so he continued, “See, I’ll wrap it up like this - wait, I’ll pop it into a pillowcase.”

Standing, he grabbed Farrier’s pillow - “He’ll want the one that smells of you” - and stuffed his old knitted jersey into it. It was from his old uniform, a thick burgundy cable knit which still had the slight scent of boarding school dinners and rugby fields on it. The moths had done a number on it, despite his best patching, but it was good Scottish wool. It would more than do for the Chief. 

He said as much when he placed it, bundled in a blue-striped pillowcase, between their beds. 

“You’re sure?” 

It wasn’t like Farrier to sound so sincere when he asked a question. Collins looked up at where he was stood stock still. 

“Huh? Of course. He’ll be right comfy down here.”

“But it’s your jersey.”

Collins shrugged. “Don’t need it. Have that much nicer one in blue anyway.”

He plumped the pillowcase, and Farrier squatted down to introduce the Chief to it. 

“Here you go. It’s bed time now.”

The Chief’s ears twitched as he stuck a tentative paw down, testing the material. Collins snorted. “Bit precious, this one.”

“Mmm. Our dogs at home slept wherever they could find, coal hole, under the table, in the yard if they’d been acting up.”

“He doesn’t do anything but act up.”

At that accusation, the Chief looked at Collins reproachfully. They both laughed and watched him settle down, curling into a knot, ears still twitching. 

A hand rested on Collins’ shoulder, kneading it softly. Together they straightened up, swaying towards each other, hands settling on waists, cheeks pressed flush, just leaning their weight into the points where their bodies met. 

 

Farrier quickly had him undressed and on the bed. The lights were out, but Collins knew what Farrier looked like. He reached forward to cup his cheeks between his hands and draw him close, letting his legs fall open so Farrier could kneel between them. 

“You smell like toast,” he murmured into Collins’s neck, and Collins kept his laughter to himself, not sure if Farrier even knew he was saying it outloud. 

Hands rubbed down his sides, and he had to breathe quick, feeling so much more special than he ever had at school, at church, or anywhere but in the cockpit or this bed. Farrier’s impossibly thick lips pressed kisses down his sternum, his stubbly cheeks burning tiny little sparks against his ribs as his head lowered, and Collins had to hold himself stable to stop his skull from banging back on the wall. 

“You don’t have to - ”

“Shush, pet.”

He didn’t know what made him want to apologise to Farrier, to try to talk him out of making Collins feel good, as if there was some imbalance that Collins could make up with self-deprivation. Mostly, he pushed that impulse aside and let go, let himself be looked after with no hesitation. It came easier these days. 

Farrier ducked down and that was it, his lips were wrapped around Collins’ cock faster than you could say Jack Robinson, though all Collins managed was a choked-out groan. 

It was an art, Collins had soon come to realise, that Farrier practiced on him like this. The heat, the suction, the wet noises he made - so private, just for Collins. He’d heard about this sort of thing before Farrier, it was the stuff of backroom conversations, whispered jokes in dorm rooms, legendary stories handed down from older brothers. 

But he never really believed it would be for him. He wasn’t the type to have that kind of scandalous adventure in his life. Until the war had come and ushered him into so many more places than he’d ever imagined. 

Like the deep blue sky. Like Farrier’s mouth. 

Fingers clasped around his hips, keeping his throbbing centre stable, while he wriggled around in Farrier’s grip. He clawed at the mattress with one hand, another clinging on to Farrier’s shoulder, his feet flat on the bed so he could push up a little more into that eager, wet heat. 

In one long, slow, pull, Farrier lifted his mouth off of him. It made a loud pop that ricocheted in Collins’ head as his mouth moved to Collin’s inner thighs, teeth scratching little imprints down to the crease of his leg, where he was sweaty and hot, before licking at his balls. Collins moaned, his hips rocking back and forth, his hands running through Farrier’s hair. 

“Please,” he begged, his voice a splintered whisper, “please, love.”

He felt Farrier’s response, a wide grin, where his head rested against his stomach. Then he lifted up and took Collins in again. Collins bit off his cry, shoving a fist in his mouth. His legs were shaking. Farrier’s tongue was insistent. Shuddering, with lips wet, chest tight, and belly flipped inside-out, Collins came, his head flopping back on the bare mattress, the sheet stripped off from in all his agitation. 

Farrier kissed his way back up to his forehead. He pushed Collins’ sweaty hair off his brow. 

“There you go, there you go. You know who my favourite is now, hey?”

Collins couldn’t talk, but he could slap Farrier’s side in protest. He wasn’t jealous of a dog. Give him at least that much credit. 

Lying between Collins’ legs, Farrier was hard against his stomach. He rolled his hips a little. Collins rocked back to match him, and they soon picked up a rhythm. Farrier mouthed at his neck as Collins snuck a hand down to grab him securely, pressing his palm at enough of an angle to make Farrier’s hips buck. 

His teeth sharpened a little over Collins’ collarbone, back straining, all his strength suddenly concentrated on reaching his climax. It came quickly, his limbs growing heavy where they lay over Collins. His face smoothed out, all the worry lines fading. Collins kissed the shell of his ear and encouraged him to spread out on top of him. 

They could stay like this for a little longer. Let their breathing even out. Gather all their mutual warmth and let it sink into their bones. Daylight was far enough away to feel like another country, and they could still time in this bed, make it their own nation with comforting walls from the cold and no enemies to speak of. 

Behind them, the Chief snuffled in his slumber. His legs jerked as he ran in his dreams, scrambling somewhere distant at high speed in pursuit of another conquest, one he was confident he’d win. 


End file.
